


R is also for Retrograde

by WriterJC



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Drama, For Emergency! ABC Challenge, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort Bingo fill for Head Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterJC/pseuds/WriterJC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it is the things that you don't remember that are the truest test of a friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	R is also for Retrograde

**Part One**

Officer Meredith Jefferson Blake wondered why he was being punished. His, thus far, nine year tenure with the Los Angeles Police Department had been beyond reproach. He was a reasonable and conscientious officer who did his job without much complaint. So he couldn’t figure out how it was that he ended up saddled with one of the worst rookies to ever be graduated by the academy. For the first few hours of his shift, he kept waiting for someone to jump out and yell ‘Surprise! You’re on candid camera!’. 

By the time they received a suspicious activity report through Dispatch just before 0330, Blake wasn’t holding out much hope that the crash course in common sense he’d tried to give newly-minted Officer Jones was going to take any time soon. 

So as he pulled the patrol car to a stop behind the too-still LACoFD Rescue Squad, he hoped fervently that the uneasily feeling that crawled across his spine didn’t mean that there was going to be trouble. 

He carefully took in the scene, trying to pin down what exactly was bothering him. He could hear the muted sounds of late night traffic moving along Johnson Street up above them. That seemed normal. The patrol car’s headlights didn’t do a lot to illuminate the area on the service road where they had pulled up, but they clearly reflected against the gold 51 emblazoned across the back of the squad. Beyond that, nothing else moved or looked out of place.

“What are we gonna do?” Jones piped up in a loud whisper. 

Blake refused to look at him. Just the excitement in the younger man’s voice made him sound more like an over anxious puppy than an office of the law. It was an irritation against Blake’s deliberate assessment of the area. He wondered, not for the first time, whether the kid had paid any attention at all at the academy. 

Taking a couple additional moments to make sure that no one was hiding in the brush on the driver’s side of the squad, Blake opened the door and got out. 

Jones followed suit. He’d introduced himself as Pinny, short for Pinton. Blake thought that was a ridiculous name and refused to call him that. “Stay alert, Jones.” 

“This door over here is open,” the kid announced, pointing toward the passenger side of the fire department vehicle. “I think I see someone’s feet sticking out.” 

Blake gestured that they should switch sides, directing that Jones should stay back along the driver’s side of the vehicle. The last thing he needed was to get caught in the crossfire if things went south. 

“Police Department. Do you need some help?” Blake called, resting a hand on his revolver as he drew to a stop several yards back from the passenger side of the squad. Just as Jones said, a pair of legs wearing bunker pants was sticking out of the vehicle. The legs weren’t moving. 

He started forward until he was within a few paces of the open door. “Everything OK in there?” he called again. The inner portion of the cab was lost in shadow as was the rest of the man’s body, but the guys legs were starting to move. He thought he caught a disoriented groan. 

Taking a step back, he made eye contact with Jones. “Check around. See if you see anyone else.” These guys usually worked in twos. 

Unclipping the flashlight from his belt, he moved back toward the squad. Whoever was in there sounded like he might need some help. Though the man was moving around with more purpose, his motions were uncoordinated. 

Something caught in the flashlight beam that made Blake’s blood run cold. Nine years of experience kicked in and his reaction was automatic. 

“Freeze! Don’t move!” 

Things happened pretty fast after that. As if Blake’s current situation wasn’t enough to deal with, Jones started yelling something about blood on the ground. Jones’ yelling took on a new tone as it mingled with the unmistakable sound of someone tumbling through overgrown brush. 

Blake barely had time to figure out how to deal with one mess before he had another on his hands.


End file.
